


Stolen

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [17]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis fucks up. At least he thinks he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



It's a Monday in November, and it's raining. It has done so for the last week. Normally it would affect Aramis' mood, but he's too happy to mind. He can't remember if he's ever been this happy before. 

Right at this very moment Porthos is helping him into his jacket. He drapes a scarf around Aramis' neck, and hands him his lunch box. "There you go, kitten – all ready for work." 

Aramis smiles and leans in for a kiss, and when they part Athos is standing next to them, looking amused. "You forgot your coffee again." 

"Ah, thank you," Aramis says, taking the thermos from Athos, and then he leans in and kisses him, too. Then he freezes. 

Oh _fuck_. 

“I gotta go!” he yells, clutching both lunch box and thermos to his chest with his left hand while wrangling the door open with his right. Then he flees. Down the corridor, into the elevator and down towards the lobby, while he can taste his heartbeat in his mouth and is experiencing quite unpleasant bouts of nausea. 

He kissed Athos. HE KISSED HIM. ON THE MOUTH. WHILE PORTHOS WAS WATCHING. 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. 

They're both going to be so _angry_. Porthos for having to watch him kiss his best friend, and Athos - 

_God_. 

Aramis _knows_ Athos doesn't date. He _knows_. Athos doesn't date, because he doesn't enjoy sex, and everything that goes with it – which presumably includes kissing, too. Of fucking course Aramis had to go and barge right into Athos' comfort zone and leave a huge fucking dent in it. With his mouth. 

Aramis groans. He's such a ninny. A complete and utter tool. A bloody moron. 

He needs to tell Constance. At once. 

 

“I don't see what the big deal is,” Constance says, peeling Aramis out of his coat and scarf. “They adore you. Both of them. They won't mind a little, innocent snog like that.” 

“You don't understand,” Aramis wails, throwing himself into his swivel chair with dramatic abandon, nearly crashing it into the wall. “Athos is – he has boundaries, ok? And I just … I just leaped right over them!” 

“You had a moment of mental derangement,” Constance reasons. “He must know you well enough by now to realize that it wasn't on purpose.” 

She sounds vaguely amused, and Aramis moans, folds his arms on his work table and thumps his head onto them. He wants to weep. Bitterly. “How would you feel if your boyfriend kissed your best friend?” comes his muffled voice from the cradle of his arms. “Huh? How would _you_ react.” 

“You know very well that the only aspirant to boyfriend-cy I have right now is twelve years old,” Constance replies, somewhat tartly; “and I must admit that the thought of him kissing you is horribly appealing.” 

Aramis sits back up as one touched by a magic wand. “I'm your best friend?” It makes him feel ridiculously pleased. Rather proud, too. 

Constance rolls her eyes at him. “Of course you are, you moron – that's hardly relevant -” 

Aramis interrupts her. “Ah, but it _so is_! As your best friend it's my duty to play matchmaker for you and your youthful admirer!” 

“Don't make me slap you,” Constance threatens, looking like a storm goddess sweeping out to sea. “You mind your own relationships and be done with it.” 

He deflates. “But you like him.” 

Her expression softens. “Yes, I do. But he's too young.” 

“Then use him for his body,” Aramis suggests with a little grin. “I'm sure he won't mind.” 

Constance looks at him for a long moment, a slight furrow between her brows. “You always did,” she says eventually, her tone decidedly careful. 

Aramis stares at her. “Oh,” he says. 

“Yeah,” she agrees. Then she smiles at him. “Feeling a little better?” 

Just like that, the immensity of his transgression drops back on his head like a mountain of wet blankets. “No.” 

She sighs. “Aramis.” 

“You have met him,” he insists. “You must have noticed how -” 

“How he has a special smile, just for you?” Constance interrupts him. “I sure did. Jesus Christ, Aramis, you act as though you've shoved your tongue down his throat! All you did was brush your lips together! In less homophobic societies that's a perfectly normal way to greet your friends! Or, in this case, thank them for providing you with coffee!” 

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Takes a deep breath. “You really think he won't mind?” 

“I am absolutely, one hundred percent certain,” she insists. “Now will you please, please try to relax? That annoying high society lady called again – needs _another_ adjustment on her dress. I wish she would stop dieting. She looks like a coat hanger by now – and it makes her crabby, too.” 

“Society is to blame for many things,” Aramis says morosely. 

Constance sighs. “It sure is.” 

 

Aramis can't stop thinking about it. He promised Constance he'd stop worrying, but he _can't_. The reasonable part of him knows that it's fine. He didn't ruin anything – or everything – by kissing Athos. He hasn't committed some sort of horrible crime. Neither Athos nor Porthos will hold this against him. Hopefully. Because the problem, the _real_ problem is that the reasonable part of Aramis was never particularly big. Or in control. 

In fact, Aramis hardly ever uses it. For anything. 

… He needs to call them. Right now. He'll fret himself into an aneurysm otherwise. So he fishes his phone out of his bag, swipes up the lock-screen depicting Porthos sporting an especially dopey grin, and calls him before he can change his mind. 

Porthos doesn't pick up. 

Aramis closes his eyes, counts his breaths. It'll be fine. It is fine. Porthos isn't angry with him. It's normal that he doesn't pick up right away. It totally is. He's at work after all, and probably has his hands full with rogue children. Teddy's probably pushed over the castle again. No, wait, he's stopped doing that. He's Gwen's most ardent care-taker now. Plays with her all the time. Horribly gentle. 

Aramis takes another deep breath. Squeezes his eyes shut until he sees tiny sparks of light behind his lids. 

Pick up pick up pick - 

“Kitten,” comes Porthos' voice across the line, warm, but tinged with worry. There are children yelling in the background, interrupted by Flea's more robust organ. “'S everythin' alright?”


	2. Chapter 2

Aramis lets out a long breath. His stomach is tied in knots, and Porthos answering his phone hasn't precisely loosened those. It merely gave them an exciting new twist. 

"Kitten?" Porthos says again. "I'm fairly alarmed here – talk to me." 

"It's good, it's all good," Aramis hears himself say. "I just wanted -" 

Somewhere in the background something or someone starts to howl, and Aramis bites his bottom lip. "But I can tell that you're busy, so I better not bother you," he gushes out, ignoring Porthos' soft noise of protest. "Talk to you later! Bye!" With that he disconnects the call and throws his phone away. 

From across the room he can feel Constance judging him. "What the hell was that?" she demands. 

Aramis has no idea. "I panicked!" he defends himself. "What would you have done?" 

"Explained to him what was going on instead of worrying him unnecessarily," Constance says slowly, as though Aramis was a bit weak in the head. 

Maybe he is. It would explain a lot. He sighs. "Should I call him back?" 

"You should get your head examined," Constance says, crossing the room towards him and handing him his phone. "But you should also call him back." 

Aramis stares down at it for a long moment, and then she's suddenly leaning in, giving him a hug. "Relax, Aramis. It's going to be fine, I promise." 

He closes his eyes again, a little overwhelmed by her sudden proximity. She doesn't usually hug him. He must look truly pitiful. 

"Thank you," he mumbles into her shoulder, snuggling up to her, just a bit. 

That's of course when the door opens and d'Artagnan enters. "Oh," he says, checking on the threshold at the sight of them. "I didn't know - I mean, I didn't mean to interrupt … anything." The last words come out slow and halting and mightily unsure, and Aramis feels Constance stiffen. 

"Nothing going on here," Aramis blurts out reflexively. "Just my best friend comforting me over boyfriend troubles!" 

Just like that, d'Artagnan is smiling. Radiantly. "That's good then." He stops, looks a bit befuddled for a moment. "I mean. I am so sorry. I hope everything will turn out fine." 

Constance huffs. "What can we do for you?" 

D'Artagnan looks from one to the other, and then he straightens. "I need a suit!" 

Constance crosses her arms in front of her chest. "You work as a bike courier." 

He shrugs. "I can afford it. I promise." 

Constance narrows her eyes at him. Aramis would tell her that this is hardly customer-friendly behaviour, but then again this is a very special situation and d'Artagnan far from the usual customer. He came in wearing jeans. No-one comes in wearing jeans. 

"What do you need it for?" Constance asks eventually, her tone rather annoyed. 

D'Artagnan dimples at her. "A wedding." 

"Your own?" she growls back. 

He pales. "Of course not!" 

Aramis feels tempted to snicker. Then his phone buzzes in his hand. "Sent Athos your way," the message from Porthos reads. "You can tell me later that I'm being overbearing." 

Aramis pales. Oh no. 

"What?" Constance asks, grabbing his shoulder. "Talk to me, Aramis, what's going on?" 

"He's coming," Aramis gets out, his voice barely audible over the lump in his throat. "Athos is coming here." 

"Who's that, a hitman?" d'Artagnan asks, clearly impressed by Aramis' dramatic talent. 

"His boyfriend's best friend," Constance explains, deadpan. "He kissed him this morning." 

"Constance!" Aramis shrieks, scandalized by her lack of secrecy. 

"What," she asks, entirely unimpressed. "Who is he going to tell? It's not like he knows them." She puts her hand on Aramis' head, pets his hair. "Calm down, will you? Porthos had clearly no idea what you're this upset about. He at least is completely fine with you kissing Athos." 

"What kind of kiss are we talking about here?" d'Artagnan inquires, visibly intent on being as helpful as possible. "Full on, with -" 

"Innocent," Constance interrupts him. "Closed lips." 

D'Artagnan stares at her. Then he stares at Aramis, fascinated. 

"It's complicated," Aramis says weakly. 

"I bet," d'Artagnan replies, warm amusement in his voice. "So now Athos is coming over to -?" 

"To check on me," Aramis mumbles. He would like a mouse hole right about now. One to hide himself in. "Porthos sent him." 

When he dares to look at d'Artagnan, the boy is smiling even wider than before. "That sounds harmless enough." 

"It is," Constance confirms. "Aramis hasn't gotten used to the fact that his boyfriend is pure perfection yet." She sounds a little wistful, and d'Artagnan narrows suspicious eyes at her. 

"Is he now?" 

Constance grins suddenly. "Oh yes. Tall too. Very handsome. Fabulous shoulders." 

D'Artagnan pouts at her. It only makes her grin wider. Aramis could enjoy this more if he wasn't so nervous about facing his impending doom. It's going to be so awkward. 

"Do you want us to stay here with you?" Constance asks him, her fingers playing with his hair. "Or would you rather we leave you alone?" 

Aramis hesitates. Maybe it's best if there are no witnesses present while he finds new and entertaining ways to embarrass himself in front of Athos. "You can go," he answers, his voice as even as he can make it. "Take his measurements, pick a cut – you know, enjoy yourself." 

That earns him a comparably gentle slap followed by a kiss to his temple, and then Constance steps away from him and orders d'Artagnan to follow her into the back room, leaving Aramis to await Athos by himself. 

About five minutes pass, then Athos enters the shop – drenched in rain, his face a study of worried confusion. "Porthos called me," he tells Aramis, stepping over the threshold, freeing himself from his sodden scarf. "Can you explain to me what he was going on about?"


	3. Chapter 3

Athos is horribly wet. Aramis stares at him. This is his fault. All of it. That Porthos called Athos, that he made Athos come here, through the rain and the wind and the cold, just for all of them to realize that Aramis is a gigantic fuck-up who can't even _speak_ when push comes to shove. 

Because Aramis has no idea what to say, how to explain himself. How in the seven hells is he going to explain to Athos that he kissed him out of momentary loss of sanity, and then called Porthos just to make matters worse. If there are words for this kind of debacle, Aramis doesn't know them. He should though. The life he led certainly prepared him for this. Still he doesn't speak. 

Athos promptly frowns. "Aramis?" His voice is surprisingly soft, and he comes a step closer, dripping water everywhere. Aramis vaguely wonders how d'Artagnan managed to enter their little shop without bringing cascades of water. He probably used an umbrella, the cheater. "I can tell that this is no fool's errand after all," Athos comments, mostly to himself, and takes off his coat, hangs it up by the door together with his scarf. 

His hair is so wet. 

"I am so sorry," Aramis hears himself say, watching a drop of water vanish into the hem of Athos' oversized sweater. 

In reaction, Athos frowns at him a little harder than before. Then he moves, crosses the distance between them, invades Aramis' workspace, pulls him from his chair and into his arms. "Come here," he murmurs, holding Aramis tight for a long, long moment. "You know you can tell me what happened, right?" 

Aramis can't _breathe_. Tears are biting at the back of his lids, are threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes. Athos is so very lovely, and Aramis deserves so very little of this. "Nothing happened," he gets out. The very real amusement in his voice surprises not only himself, but Athos as well. 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"I'm a bloody moron," Aramis elaborates, trying to step back, just to be pulled into another embrace. 

"No, you are not." 

Aramis feels a giggle coming. He very nearly fails to keep it down. 

This is preposterous. 

"Athos," he says, breathless with sudden, untoward mirth. "Athos - I kissed you." He can _feel_ Athos frown yet again. 

"What – do you mean that little thing this morning?" Athos asks, putting his hands on Aramis' shoulders and putting sufficient distance between them so he can look into Aramis' eyes. "The one Porthos desperately wishes he had a picture of to show my mother?" 

A smile blooms on Aramis' face. "That one, yes." 

Athos narrows his eyes at him. "Is this a prank?" 

"No-o-o," Aramis says slowly. "This _was_ me overreacting because I kissed my boyfriend's best friend who does not enjoy, ah … sexual advances." 

Athos' expression relaxes into a faint smile. "That kiss was not sexual, Aramis." 

Aramis stares down at his shoes. "I did say I overreacted, didn't I?" 

"Yes, you did," Athos confirms, genuine warmth in his voice. "Come here." He pulls Aramis into another embrace, stroking his hands over his back, gentle and warm, just the way Porthos would do. 

Aramis sighs. "You're far too nice to me. I acted so stupidly – made you and Porthos worry." 

"Be quiet," Athos tells him in a soft yet commanding voice. 

Aramis obediently shuts up. He feels tempted to bury his nose in Athos' hair. It smells so very nice. Of rain and autumn and Athos. Athos would probably let him, too. Only the fear of overstepping yet another boundary keeps Aramis in check. That and the vague idea that a face full of wet hair might be unpleasant. 

"Now," Athos eventually says, slowly letting go of Aramis, "we better tell Porthos that there is no reason to worry, yes?" 

"Yeah," Aramis agrees sheepishly. "I can't believe he made you come here." 

"Oh, you better believe it," Athos drawls. "He insisted. Threatened me with bodily harm and everything." He smiles at Aramis, squeezes his shoulder. "I am glad I did come." 

Aramis really wants to kiss him again right about now. 

"Come," Athos says, positioning himself right next to Aramis, fishing his phone out of his pocket. "Let us send him one of those pictures he loves so much." 

Aramis blinks. "A selfie? You want to take a selfie?" 

Athos pulls him closer. "You make it sound like I am a creature from a forgotten century. I am able to handle a phone, you know." 

Aramis grins at him. "I know." 

Still. Athos wants to take a selfie! Aramis mushes his face next to Athos', almost overcome by gleeful giddiness. Porthos is going to _love_ this. He grins at the phone, pointed at them by Athos' outstretched hand. Athos takes a picture. Doesn't like it. Orders Aramis to come closer. Aramis obeys. 

They are very close by now. 

Aramis sighs. Athos tells him to turn his head a little more towards him. Aramis does. That's when Athos kisses him, on the mouth, and takes a picture before Aramis' expression of bliss can morph into perplexity. 

"There," Athos says, satisfaction dripping from his voice like honey. "Perfect." 

Aramis blinks rapidly while Athos types out a message to Porthos, attaches the picture, and hits send. Aramis blinks a little more. "Athos," he says, awed. "You kissed me." 

"You noticed, did you," Athos murmurs, putting his phone away. "You see, I was making a point." 

"You didn't have to do that," Aramis mumbles, blushing a little. 

Athos winks at him. He actually _winks_. "I felt like it." 

 

"That was _beautiful_ ," Constance tells Aramis later, once Athos has returned home, and Aramis has told her the whole story. 

In the background d'Artagnan is making them coffee. Aramis doesn't think he plans on leaving before they actually kick him out. He can live with that. D'Artagnan is _nice_. 

"Porthos keeps sending me messages," Aramis discloses. "Demanding we re-enact it later at home. I don't think Athos knows what he unleashed here." 

Constance snorts. "Oh please. Porthos is his best friend. He knows precisely what he's doing." 

She accepts a cup from d'Artagnan and thanks him with a smile. Clears her throat. "So," she says, turning back to Aramis. "How did it feel?" 

Aramis doesn't even attempt to misunderstand her. "His lips are very soft." 

She sighs. "I knew they would be." 

D'Artagnan pouts at her. 

"You are far too sensitive," she tells him. "There are other men in the world. I interact with several of them. Get used to it." 

Aramis stares from one to the other. "What the hell happened in the backroom?" 

"Nothing," Constance says breezily. "It's just a general observation." 

Aramis is almost as disappointed as d'Artagnan looks.


	4. Chapter 4

"I still can't believe he actually did that." Aramis drops onto the bed face-first, clad in nothing but a pair of boxers, and snuggles into the soft sheets. He grabs his pillow and pulls it under his chest – holds on to it with what might be considered excessive force. "It was so unexpected! I mean this is Athos we're talking about – and to send you the picture, just like that!" 

Behind him in the bedroom he can hear Porthos change – out of his jeans and sweater and into a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms. He never wears a shirt to bed. Aramis loves that. 

"Well, I was happy to get that picture," Porthos says, joining Aramis on the bed. "Very happy indeed." He pulls Aramis' pillow out from beneath him and restores it to its original place, so he can put his arm around Aramis and pull him close – brush a kiss to his lips. 

Aramis closes his eyes. To be in Porthos' arms like this still makes him feel peculiar – safe and cherished and so utterly peaceful that he has no idea what to do with it. All he really can do is surrender. Porthos tastes of toothpaste, minty and fresh, and Aramis cannot help but notice the difference between this kiss and - 

"You're thinkin' about it right now, aren't you," Porthos murmurs, pulling back so he can look into Aramis' eyes. "My best friend actually ruined kissin' for us." He's grinning from ear to ear, and before Aramis could come up with some explanation or excuse Porthos is leaning in again, peppering Aramis' face with kisses. "Tell me then, kitten," he demands. "How did it feel?" 

"Soft," Aramis breathes out before he can stop himself. "It was really nice." 

"I bet it was," Porthos murmurs, stroking his hands over Aramis' back. "You know this was the first time he kissed anyone in ten years?" 

Aramis' eyes fly open. "What?" 

Porthos nods. "Ten years without a kiss," he repeats. "On the mouth, I mean. And even then he only kisses family on the cheek – and me … and you." He looks into Aramis' eyes, his expression soft, grateful. "We're really lucky to have you." 

A wave of warmth washes over Aramis, and he moves closer to Porthos, deeper into his embrace. "I really didn't mean to kiss him this morning, you know." 

"I know," Porthos murmurs. "Still glad you did it though. His face afterwards was priceless. He looked all dazed – actually touched his lips with his fingertips." 

Aramis presses his face into Porthos' neck, replaying his actions this morning in his head, imagining Athos' reaction. 

"I never thought we'd turn out like this," he whispers. "He was so cold at first, so -" 

"Protective of me," Porthos interrupts him gently. "Now he's protective of you, too." 

"Yes," Aramis agrees. "Hitting people because of me – kissing _me_ to make a point …" His voice trails off, and he lifts his head, looks at Porthos. "It feels rather unreal, at times." 

Porthos grins. "Oh, he's real enough." 

Aramis grins back at him. "You're really happy about this." 

"I am," Porthos confirms. 

He sounds just as giddy as Aramis felt earlier, so truly and honestly pleased by this development that Aramis can't stop himself from pushing him on his back and climbing on top. Porthos lets him, lets out a little "uff" of surprise, and then he lies still, smiles up at Aramis. "What now, kitten?" 

Aramis kisses him. It starts soft, gentle and almost shy, until Aramis opens his mouth and presses his tongue against the seam of Porthos' lips. Porthos opens up for him, invites Aramis into his mouth and strokes his hands over Aramis' back … pushes his hips upward, ever so slowly. Aramis fails to hold back a moan. He's been needing this since the morning. 

"You wanna?" he hears Porthos whisper, his voice warm as his breath tickles Aramis' ear. 

"Yes," Aramis whispers back. "Yes, I want to." 

Porthos gives him another kiss. "We better be quiet then - I don't think Athos is asleep yet." 

Aramis shivers, and Porthos chuckles, moves both hands on Aramis' ass and gives it a gentle squeeze. "We better not tell him that the thought of him listenin' turns you on, eh?" 

Aramis moans again, this time because of the absolutely filthy rasp to Porthos' voice. "You're – you're being unfair," he gets out, as his hips start to move as if of their own volition. 

"Nah," Porthos murmurs, brushing his lips to the spot just below Aramis' ear. "I'm bein' honest." He sucks a mark there, and then licks over the heated skin. "Feels really good, too – bein' honest." 

Aramis whimpers and presses back into the hands on his ass, moves his body against Porthos' beneath him. "I know," he whispers. "I know it does. It's just -" he stops and bites his lip, and then he pushes himself up on his hands, directs an earnest look at Porthos. "I don't want to make him uncomfortable." 

Porthos' expression turns soft. "Oh, kitten. It's not that the idea of sex makes him feel uncomfortable. He doesn't mind other people havin' it. He just doesn't wanna participate." 

Aramis lets that sink in, suddenly thoughtful. "It was never good for him – not even once?" 

"Nope," Porthos says curtly. "From what he told me, it was always awkward from beginnin' to end." 

Aramis sighs. "I can't even imagine that." 

Porthos gives his ass a playful squeeze. "I know you can't." 

"Don't make fun of me," Aramis pouts down at him. "I can't help that it always … feels so good." 

Porthos chuckles again. "I can ask him to watch, if you wanna. His commentary on the matter should prove interesting." 

Aramis slaps him. "You're not helping!" 

"Course I am," Porthos whispers, his eyes glittering in the half-light of the room. "Got you all hot and bothered, didn't I?" 

Aramis can't deny it. The mere thought of Athos watching - 

"Don't ask him," he gets out, grinding down on Porthos, as goosebumps break out all over his back. "Promise you won't ask him!" 

"I promise," Porthos says solemnly. "But you can imagine him watchin' all you wanna, kitten - I won't tell."

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos to Nomina for coming up with the plot bunny <3


End file.
